Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
blah-037
Ü ÜßÝ Ü Ü Ü
ßÝ ßÝ Ý Ý Ý
Ý Û Ý Ý Ý
BLaH Ý ß Ý ÜßÜ Ý Ý
File ÝßÜ Ý ÜÝ ÝßÝÜÝ Written March 21st, 1993
#037 Ý Ýig Ýong ÜßÝ Ýnd Ý Ýairy
Ý Ý Ý Þ Ý Ý Ý
ÝÜß ÝÜÜÝ ßÜÜßÞ ÜÝ ÞÜ
Presents
Ú ÄÄ ¿
"Judy Blume Nightmare"
³ by ³
Guido Sanchez
À ÄÄ Ù
Judy Blume Nightmare
Insomnia keeping me up that fateful night of April 30th, I opened up
the old suitcase of crap that I had felt worth bringing back from my
parents' house, just in case I wanted to relive the manipulated
childhood I had recently given up. These were the old books that were
too moist and discolored to be sold for twenty-five cents at our garage
sales which Mom treated like a circus with her colored flags strung up
throughout the front yard and 'Teddy Bear Picnic' streaming forth from
speakers put on display to prove that they were worth the five dollars we
were asking for. These were the books I loved and cherished, being a
literate child of the late seventies and early eighties. These were
from that unique era of literacy which was somewhere between Dr. Seuss
and science fiction novels. These were the works of Cleary chronicling
the epic struggle of Beezus and Ramona, the hard luck story of Henry,
and yes, even Ralph the motorcycle mouse. These were the choose-your-
own-adventure books which I had liberated from the school library in the
fourth grade. These were the sagas of Jupiter Jones and the rest of The
Three Investigators. And yes, among them were the sweet magnum opuses of
a woman named Blume.
A maelstrom swept over me of memories and feelings. Of the times I'd
had back in the fourth grade. Back when the immense cult appeal that is
the crux of my being manifested itself. Fondly I remember the friends
I'd made as president of the self-founded unofficial Meditation Club
where we sat about during recess with eyes closed chanting "Oh-lolli-
pop-i-um" ad nauseum while my friends <I think there were at least two>
slyly slipped lollipops into their laps, keeping most of them for
themselves <thus insuring our friendship>. Ah, we were masters at
knowing when someone was peaking, and only the submissive would get
their reward. We could have tamed them all if it were not for that
bothersome Cult Watch representative having an unfortunate liason with
the principal. That and the fact that I was physically repulsive, quite
the opposite of the primal Adonis that I am now. Small, fat, and with
glasses made for not a pretty scene. But that never stopped me from
being the social acolyte that I am now. Ah, the times I spent reading in
the library, reading on the playground at recess <I lacked the skill and
desire to swing>, reading on the bus ride home, and reading before I
went to bed. Yes, you truly cannot keep a well-rounded individual down.
Yes, from the 2nd to 6th grades I peaked. And from these newly
re-discovered tomes, I could get the ego-boost that I so desperately
needed. I grabbed the first one I saw, a pale blue book with a litte boy
jumping up and down on a bed gracing the cover. My lips trembled as I
read the title. "Superfudge", I whispered as I would the name of
anything else I held as sacred. As I turned to the back cover to read
the plot summary and book reviews, a warning light went off in my head.
There had been a first one. Yes, _Superfudge_ was but a mere sequel to
another book. I racked my brains and the suitcase trying to find what it
was. Both my brains and my hands found what I was looking for
simultaneously. There, in a coverless book with a sea green spine, was
the primer of the Fudge saga. _Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing_ rested
in my cradling arms, rocking back and forth until my brain made me hear
it croon. I turned the first page, and prepared myself to sally forth
into my childhood.
About 70 pages through the book, I nodded off to sleep. My dreams
were filled with the sadistic images I had just encountered. I saw
myself as a turtle, being plastered with stamps, dangled cruelly above
someone's mouth, and finally eaten by a small child. I saw myself as a
little girl, brought to a little boy's house and then forced to urinate
on the rug and commit other devious acts which involved teeth. I saw
myself as a little boy, neglected by my parents, ridiculed and scorned
by my older sibling, and exploited in television commercials. I saw
myself as Sheila Tubman, subjected to exposure to cooties, called ugly,
and having my older sister called fat. I saw myself as all of these
characters and others from the other books Blume wrote. I awoke
screaming out loud for Jesus Christ, knowing that a scream for my mother
would almost certainly bring forth the flames from Judy Blume's personal
Hell. This was the first time I felt in my heart that I had truly
accepted Jesus Christ as my saviour. It was also the first time I
realized why my childhood was so happy. No matter how much my
drunken father beat me, no matter how many times my mother made sexual
advances toward me, and no matter how many times my older brother threw
me outside on the snow nude and locked the door; I knew that what I was
going through nowhere near rivaled that of the ordeal of Fudge Hatcher,
and that none of this really mattered anyway because Jesus loves us.
Thank you, Judy Blume, for being my Beatrice and showing me that Divine
Love is the way. Praise Jesus!
--GS <Great Saviour!>
{---End of File. Welcome to the valley of the great white sleep.---}
From the Ayatollah of Rock-n-Rollah!...
BLaH <Sigh>ts..
Nun-Beaters Anonymous <708>251-5094
The Battle of Evermore <312>476-1508
The Obloid Sphere <708>965-3098
Yes, there are fewer sights to be seen because I have made no contact
with any of them in a long time. If you'd like to be a BLaH sight, then
call yourself one. If you'd like to be mentioned in this propaganda area
and receive our WaReZ the day we release them <0 day WaReZ!>, then
contact a member or sysop on the above boards.. We're back!
{---Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls... Dyin' Time's Here---}
